Just One Purpose
by Liatris5113
Summary: Hawke wakes up not beng able to remember who she was. She remembers only one purpose, she remembers only that she must fix the world at war. And she remembers that one thing she'd rather not: a mage named Anders.
1. Chapter 1: Awakening

**Maeve:**

Her first words were stated, not in a form of a statement, but of a question: "I am alive?" The sentence was laced with surprise and—did I imagine it?—sorrow; as if the mere thought of living was a burden. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was me who was repeating those words over and over. But did it matter? Did the 'me' really differ from the 'her'? I did not know myself. I woke up with no memories of the life I had led. And yet I did not feel the panic that usually overcomes such individuals in a situation like this. Rather, I feel...comforted, calm and odd sense of freedom. A question stirs within my soul and I feel despair. I feel pain as I ask myself:

_What kind of life would I have led to not feel sorrow over lost memories? _

And the answer comes to me as quickly as the question does and I am calm once more. _A life not worth salvaging. _I suddenly feel no need to question my past, no need to try and search for answers. The only way out is forward. I am oddly comforted by that fact. A word, a name, bubbles to my lips and it is the only piece of information from the past that I will ever need. "Maeve," I said out loud. "My name is Maeve," Oh, how good it felt to hear that name again! I get the feeling that I have not been called that in a long time! I laughed at this for it is a fitting name, a good name, one that I will wear proudly. I slip out of the bed that I am lying on and realize that I am wearing full battle regalia. I am wearing armour made out of smooth, pliable silk, I am holding a staff that is so well-cared for, it gleamed. I unconsciously smile as I behold that marvelous weapon and I know that it is the only friend I will ever need. And then I walk, not with the staggering gait of a woman who has lost her memory, but the confident march of a woman with a purpose. I do not know where such actions come from but I knew that straying from these actions would ensure terrible consequences. I realize what this meant in a second. I am given a mission, one that I must fulfil; repentance for whatever actions I have made in the life that I had forgotten and left behind. I see my hand stretch out before me, it is small and smooth and well-formed but it does not matter, things like that no longer matter. Why do I even think of it? I see my hand push open the only door in the room and I felt my body tense, though I do not know why. I _feel _the effects of war even before I hear it. The air seemed to shimmer with crimson vibrations and I realize it is blood, evaporating into mist and the words '_blood magic' _float into my mind. Suddenly, I know what it is and what it can do. It is an evil that must be eradicated, a corruption that must be vanquished. _And I am the one that must do it. _I should have been scared, but I am not. I know that I will not fall; I know that I must prove my worth. _Prove my worth to whom? _I asked myself and unlike before, the answer does not come to me. It must be something that I will find out on my own. All around me, I see war. I see people fighting each other. The words _templars _and _mages _float in my head and I suddenly know what is happening. Mages have turned to blood magic and they plan to overtake the Circle of Magi. I remember only the information I need, nothing more, nothing less. I felt my stomach twist in disgust for both groups because they are animals and nothing more. And I am their shepherd. I step out and for a moment, the fighting ceases. Mage and templar alike turn their heads to look at me. I smell blood and I smell lyrium. The instruments of war. Whispers erupt all around me, I hear the words "Champion" and "Hawke"; these words are worthless. They mean nothing. I slam the butt of my staff upon the cold, hard concrete and the temperature of the room dropped dramatically. My breath comes out in white plumes. Beautifully patterned snowflakes fall from the ceiling. They fall upon the combatants and become blue wisps of smoke the moment they touch their skin. When the wisps disappear, they take the wounds with them and in a matter of minutes, every injury, every scar, every burn was gone. Who would have thought I could create something so beautiful? Not a whisper rose from the crowd. "Drop your weapons! All of you!" My voice resounded throughout the room, bouncing off the walls, magnifying it by a thousand times. As soon as the words slip from my mouth, mage and templar alike protested.

"Are you mad-?"

"We'll get killed!"

"Those bloody mages—,"

"Bastard templars—,"

"Join our cause! Fight for our kind!"

Noise. Useless noise was it all it was. "I take no sides!" I yelled. "Drop your weapons or die by mine!"

A man a templar, I think for he was wearing the armour that emphasized his kind, laughed at me. "_You? You? _C'mon, Hawke, don't be stupid..."

His next words are lost as I lift my free hand and made a twisting motion with it. His head followed the action of my hand, causing his neck to break. The templar fell to the floor instantly. Pandemonium erupted, everyone was clamouring for the exits. I slam my staff on the floor again, furious at their stupidity. Can't they see that I am trying to help? Do they love war so much that they would not accept my help? Or had they completely forgotten what it was like to obey, so soaked are they in their own mad desires? Lightning streaked from the ceiling and struck the floor, leaving a large, black burn mark on the floor. They fell silent and everyone was still.

"I am giving you two choices," I said calmly. "Fight me and die by my hand or help me put the broken pieces of this shattered country together. The choice is yours,"

A voice rose from the crowd, a mage this time. "But...Hawke, how could you do magic again...you're—you're Tranquil," Murmured assent rippled through the throng and I smile. "I am Hawke no longer. That life is far behind me. You shall no longer call me by that name,"

"Then what shall we call you?"

Again, I could hear the words rise to my lips and I know that what I am about to say is destined.

"Call me Maeve," I said to the silent mass. "Speaker of the Maker's Will. The Child of Andraste. The Warrior of the One True God,"

**Anders:**

I wake to the sound of the hammering rain and I think _Hawke _though she was not there. I roll over my side, hoping to find her sleeping peacefully beside me, her dark hair astray and dreams peaceful but of course, she was not there. Hawke, like all of my other companions had hated me. She was gone, but it was not her fault. My choices have been mine alone and I cannot change them, nor can I blame her if she hated me (though I pray to the Maker that it was not so) Even now, alone in the dark with nothing for company but the spirit that used to be my friend, I could still see her face. She was beautiful beyond words, those startlingly blue eyes that always seemed to be laughing, that slender body that seemed to fit so perfectly against mine and her lips, oh Maker, her lips. They were always curved into a teasing smile. I missed them, missed kissing them, missed being kissed by them. I missed _her. _From the moment I had asked her to help me gather the ingredients for the 'potion', I knew what I was setting her up for, knew what her reaction would be. At least I thought I knew it. It was more terrible than even I could have suspected. When the Chantry exploded, I expected Hawke to turn on me, I expected her to scream at me and tell me what a monster I am, I also thought (perhaps a bit selfishly) that maybe she would understand. Hawke had always understood. She had always stood beside me, even when she first found out about Justice. Hawke didn't run and scream like any sane person would, she did not tell me that I was an abomination. Unlike everyone else before her, Hawke did not abandon me. For ten years, she was the only constant in my life. Hawke was the one who was there for me when I myself didn't believe that I could go on. And I had betrayed her. When she realized what I had done, she didn't say anything. Hawke just stared at me, her expression frozen and her eyes were suddenly like chips of ice. She looked at me as if she barely knew me, as if I was not the man she had loved. That was the first time that I thought that maybe I wasn't. I had been so consumed by fighting for the imprisoned mages that I had forgotten to fight my own battles. Every time she had tried to help me, I hid behind Justice. I kept on using him as an excuse that I had begun to wonder if there's anything left of 'Anders' in me. Was there even a semblance of that kitten-loving, carefree mage that I once was? I truly do not know. I could feel Justice (or was it Vengeance?) stirring inside me. He does not like doubts. He does not like distractions. I can feel him struggling to push my memories of Hawke to the back of my mind, where they cannot hurt me. And I let him do it because I am a coward. Because memories of the woman I loved were too much to bear. I can hear my own voice (or was it Justice's? This never used to be so hard.) saying, _"She's Tranquil. She can no longer feel for you. She is no longer the woman you love,"_

_"Because of me," _I whisper softly, though there is no one else there. _"She has been made Tranquil because she was the one who got blamed. Not me." _

It was my fault. Memories really _can _break you. I let Justice push away these horrible recollections away. They are too much to bear. Alone in the dark, I could see Hawke's face fading. My one saving grace. And she was gone. I am now truly alone. I whisper the words "I'm sorry," to a woman who I know will never hear me. And yet why do I keep hoping that she'll reply?

I whisper again, "I'm sorry," But of course, she wasn't there.


	2. Chapter 2: Who We Were

**Anders:**

I can't heal anymore. No, it's not what you think. I can still close wounds, banish sicknesses, cure ailments but I can't _heal_. The magic doesn't feel as it should. The sensation is so much more different from what I've known. It doesn't sooth me anymore than it soothes my patients. They have told me that it hurt whenever I healed them; they said that it felt like fire against their flesh. It hurt me, as well. It felt as if a thousand needles were being pressed through my skin. _It wasn't supposed to be like this._Magic is supposed to help others, not hurt them. Nothing is as should be. _Nothing. _Because if everything is as it should be, Hawke would be here with me right now, in my arms, where she belongs. She would be whispering endearments in my ear and I in hers. She would be right here, next to me instead of in some Maker-forsaken tower, held prisoner by her own mind. _Maker, I can't stop thinking about her. _What I've done to her, what she has become. Every single mage in Thedas is rising up against the templars, fighting for their freedom, overtaking Chantries and leaving, perhaps for the first time in their lives, by their own rules. It was war. It was violence. And it was also what I wanted. This is it. Justice for every child ever taken away from their parents, justice for every mage whose whole life was taken away by those blighted templars.

Then why wasn't I happy? Why wasn't I leaping with joy? Why?

I don't think I have to ask those questions when I already knew the answer. There's a difference between justice and happiness.

"_Since when is justice happy? Justice is righteous. Justice is hard," _It was what I told her when she tried to joke about Justice. She had been trying to make me smile, ease my load. Even then, she had been doing her best to make me happy. And even then I pushed her away. Maker, if I could have just one day with her, I'd give up anything. And suddenly, I am on the floor without knowing how I got there. My world is suddenly nothing but pain, flaming swords being pressed against every bit of my skin. I scream for mercy but there was none. _Maker, let it end…_ I scream and I scream and I scream.

_Maker, I wanted to die._

It was so hot, the pain was excruciating, I can hear my skin crackling in the heat. _Let me die. Maker let me die. _Tongues of flame lick me, take me into its hungry mouth, and laugh at my pain. _Maker…kill me. _And then it is gone. The pain was gone as quickly as it came. I touch my face, my arms, my chest. I am undamaged. I could hear soft, sinister laughter in my ear and I know immediately what had caused the pain.

Justice.

Vengeance.

He did not like it when I thought about Hawke, did not like the sacrifices I would have made to have her with me again. She was a distraction to him, nothing more. He did not understand what she meant to me, what she is to me. He did not care for her smile or her jokes or her soothing voice. She was just another human to him. Someone who will be a hindrance in achieving our goal, he didn't understand. I _loved _her. I wanted her to take me in her arms, comfort me, and soothe me. Tell me that she will never leave my side. I wanted to retreat to my memories of her, where I was safe, where her face glowed like a beacon. The only good thing in my life. But I couldn't remember. Try as I might to conjure an image of her I couldn't see her face. Were her eyes blue or a muddy brown? Was her soft hair brown or was it black, or maybe red? Was it short or did it reach her shoulders? Why can't I remember? This had never happened to me before. Her memories were my only comfort and my greatest curse. Why are they gone? I hear that laughter again and I understand. Justice. That wretched bastard, not content in ruining the one good thing in my life, he had to make me forget as well! I scream again in helpless frustration, for not even memories of Hawke were there to comfort me. What else was there to live for? Not bothering to pick myself off the floor, I buried my face in my arms and cried.

**Maeve:**

The girl had a petite, finely sculptured face but her eyes shone with bloodlust. Her face was contorted in an expression of pure want. Want for blood, for violence, for everything that I've stood against. She was no longer even remotely human. She was an abomination, a monster, a thing that needed to put down. An inhuman growl escaped her throat and her eyes flashed an angry red. I wanted her attention on me, so that she would not try to claim the mage behind her. No, that is a lie, I wanted her attention on me because I wanted to reach her throat out. How _dare _she turn to demons? How dare she use blood magic? I wanted to hurt her in the worst way possible. I was reckless, I admit but I was also correct. Blood mages need to die. I can feel the magic in the air, the pressure of it threatening to crush me. I will not fail Him. I felt power rising within me, encouraging me. I feel heat against my fingertips and I shoot it at her. She sent a blast of ice and it was gone. She laughed at me, her voice high and irritating. Lightning, sparks flew from my fingertips and they hit her chest. Her laughter became a shriek of pain as she flew backward. I stifle a smile. I cast another spell and she earth engulfed her, the mage struggled but I struck with ice next. Frost coated her body and she became still. A quick clean blow was all that was required. It would end her life and the demon's. She would exit this world peacefully. But I didn't want that. I wanted her to suffer, to scream, to beg for mercy. Blood mages deserved no mercy. I walked over to her entombed figure, feeling magic gather against my fingers. I wanted to hold fire over her skin and watch it crackle and burn. The all-powerful blood mage, whimpering in pain like the dog she is. I approached her and stared at her. "Not so powerful now, are you?" I whispered. Quick as thought, her frozen hand shot from underneath her tomb of rocks and gripped my face, squeezed it tight. The mage's grinning face sneered at me. "Let's see what's inside that pretty little head of yours, all right?" Pain shot through my head and tendrils of blood seeped into my skin but by then, I was already past caring.

"_Ow, ow, ow! Be careful will you? I'm a very delicate work of art!" _

_A breathless laugh followed by a soft purr. "I know, love, but unless you stop squirming, I'll never be finished,"_

"_It itches!"_

"_Stop scratching it, you'll make it worse."_

"_Worse? How can it be _worse_? Andraste's pyre itself couldn't have hurt more than this?"_

_I felt a cool, pleasant sensation wash against my chest and I felt as if a great weight was lifted of it. _

"_Better?" the voice asked. I opened my eyes to see a blonde man smiling down at me. I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck. He chuckled, a soft comforting sound at the base of his throat and pressed his warm lips against mine. "I'll take that as a 'yes'," he murmured. Bright, friendly sparks of magic leap between our bodies. _

"_Maker, I love you," he murmured. I leaned on his shoulder and licked the shell of his ear, feeling his body tense against mine._

"_Mmm…I love you, too…"_

Who?

Who was he?

Who was that man? The one with the gentle hands and the soothing voice? I mouth the words, "Who are you?" before I black out.

"_I love you, too…"_

"_I love too, Anders," _

**Sorry that this is all I could write. I'm a little tired right now and I'm pretty much looking forward to snuggling with my teddy bear with a good book in hand. Hope you like it. :) **_  
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	3. Chapter 3: Dealing with Loss

**Aveline:**

It's strange, you know? Even months after I lost her, I still think that one of these days, Hawke is going to stride through the doors of my home and announce that she's going to take me on a quest to save mages from the templars or ask for help to rescue a cat in a tree. Whenever I turn around I expect to see her looking back at me, her smile confident and yet impish at the same time. Her shoulders pushed back in a proud stance. And she would touch my arm and nod at me. That was her way of saying that she was there for me, that she wasn't going to leave me. There are so many things that have been inconsistent in my life, but Hawke wasn't one of them. I may have considered myself her guardian, but in more ways than one, she was my anchor. She gave me something to hold on to when Wesley (Maker keep him) died and left me alone. She was the one I came running to when I first realized my feelings for Donnic. Hawke was my rock, my anchor and above all, my friend. I still find it hard to forgive myself. I don't make excuses for others or for myself: I let her down. That's the truth. Donnic thinks that I'm being too harsh with myself but I know better. I should've bashed that bastard mage's face in when I had the chance. Maybe then, Hawke would've been safe. Maybe, just maybe, she would still be here with me, safe and sound instead of locked up in a tower where she doesn't belong. When I first saw her face when she was made Tranquil, I think a part of me died. _This is madness! _I had wanted to scream. _This blank, unfeeling slate was not the woman I loved and looked after! This emotionless slab of rock can't be Hawke! Give me back Hawke! _I would have stormed in there and grabbed Knight-Commander Gregoir by the shoulders and beat some sense into him until he gives me back my friend if Varric, Merrill and Fenris haven't restrained me.

Hawke was a woman of smiles, of laughter, of emotion. To replace her with that cold, unfeeling thing and call it by her name is an insult to her memory. Maker forgive me, but I'd rather she'd be dead. Death is nothing compared to what she is now. I doubt if anything left in her is human. It pains me to visit it in the tower and pretend that it was my Hawke. The scars of my heart are ripped open once again whenever I try to pass off that empty husk as the warrior, the friend and the woman she once was. But she is my duty and I will not fail her as I have before. I will visit her everyday because it is my duty as her guardian, not because I want to. I wrench open the door and avoid Donnic's sad gaze, I pretend that I do not see him, even as I feel his stare burn into my back. He is a good man and he knows the importance of this to me, so he does not say a word. I may have failed Hawke once, but I will not do so again. I will guard Hawke, properly this time, until my last breath. I look up at the sky, already dark with overcast clouds, and wish, not for the first time, that we had never met that foul mage Anders.

**Isabela: **

The elf was tall, lanky and had stark white hair. He reminds me of Fenris, the Tevinter fugitive that we have befriended a few years ago and it made me wonder where he is now. He boarded the ship without saying a word and paused only to tighten the strings around his cloak. The strong, silent type. I think. _I like that. _He approaches me, one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other on his coin purse. "Ferelden?" he asks softly and I nod. He reaches inside his coin purse but I slap his hand away.

"Kitten, we don't have a lot of deck hands around here, so how about instead of paying, you go downstairs and help the others row?" I say cheerfully. I expected him to refuse (he _definitely _looked like the type who's used to royalty) and I would have to take him down a notch. Who knows? I might actually enjoy it. Maybe after I teach him a lesson, I'll clap him in irons and maybe drag him over to my quarters and...oops, I got a little carried away there. But instead, Elfy nods at me and without another word, rushes downstairs. Huh, would you look at that. A man who would follow orders. And here I thought you needed to break a few fingers before they get the message. The sun was already high in the sky, as bright and shiny and round as a new sovereign, the gulls were screaming in the air and my ship was ready to set sail. I should be jubilant, getting drunk at the wheel, screaming orders to the nearest shipmate to raise the anchor and all-in-all bragging about my good fortune. But I wasn't. She told me that she'd set sail with me, you know. She told me that it would be good to see the world, even if the trip made her seasick. I had been looking forward to it. I think she was, too. We had spent nights at the Hanged Man drinking to it, drawing up plans with that dwarf Whatsisname. The sea was a beautiful thing, wild and untameable, loyal only to itself, mysterious and free and for the first time, I wanted to share it with someone. It is my home and my one greatest love, then why do I feel resentment toward it? Then why do I find myself angry at it? Why do I want to scream at it for being so calm, so beautiful, so...sparkly? It took me a few seconds to realize that Elfy was talking to me. "...says we're ready to go, Captain Isabela," he whispers. _Captain Isabela_. How come that title sounds so hollow now? I nod and give him instructions and then turn back to the sea. My anger morphs to grief and I lean on the wheel for support. The sea was breathtaking, as it always was, but I wanted to see it stormy, angry and destructive. My ship—_my ship_—was so gorgeous it might actually give me a run for my coin. But I wanted to see it—my pride and joy—as a burned and useless heap of cheap wood.

Hawke, my friend, my _sister_ (though not in blood, of course) was dead, or was good as.

What right had anything to be beautiful?

Sorry it's so short. But I've been busy. Hope you enjoy!


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